Prompt 67

When I was little, there weren’t many occasions where we would go to playgrounds. Our family lived on a farm, and our playground was our garden, with low hanging branches to climb and fallen tree trunks to walk across.

When we did happen to stumble on an actual playground, either at our summer camp or when we visited our grandparents, I would always head straight for the swings.

I loved the feeling of lifting myself off the ground only to be pulled back in a consistent rhythm. It was a movement both predictable and curious, inspiring me to go higher to see if I could somehow escape the bonds of gravity, which I did not fully understand at the time, and make the full circle around the beam from which the swing hung. That was every child’s dream, was it not?